for r. david bretnor

my labored eyes
my open mouth
my resting eyeglasses
my astonished gaze
nothing so strange as a day
vanquished by the moon.
a cheerio. a wreath. a dead cat.
an opium dream rebounding
you've cut the pine down.
quietly waiting come to spend
time with us. resting in
clumps of may apple and fern
long stretches of space,
light spilling over leaves
moving in the wind. it's a
story told by a human.
my silver coin
my outstretched palm
my plucked banjo
my open heart